


Small Talk

by Edlinklover



Category: Persona 5, Vocaloid
Genre: Coffee, Crossover, Drabble, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 10:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edlinklover/pseuds/Edlinklover
Summary: Sometimes, you just don't know what to make of a guy.





	Small Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a pointless experimental drabble that I made with a Persona 5 AU of my headcanon Vocaloid characters. I want to develop it more but there's no way I'm recreating the entire P5 plot with Vocaloids so here's just a small contained thing in that universe.
> 
> Some things to note:  
> The Fukase in this fic is based off of my Spirit Fukase which explains its odd behaviors (namely its "substitute words") and why I call it it/its.
> 
> The Oliver in this fic is based off of my Dummy Oliver which explains his really mature mannerisms and such.
> 
> I think it's easy to guess what roles I gave to who.

    The door shut behind Fukase with a loud jingle, although it had grown accustomed to the sound by now and hardly paid it mind. The usual warm interior of LeBlanc greeted it, the strong scent of coffee pushing into its senses. The TV was running the news, set at a low hum—a soft noise that easily blended into the background.

    What didn’t blend in, however, was the boy who sat at the counter, a sophisticated air about him that didn’t quite belong in such a small, retro shop. It was as if someone had clipped him out of a magazine and pasted him into another.

    Oliver looked over from his cup of coffee and smiled pleasantly. “Why, fancy seeing you here. Come often?”

    “Guess you can say that.” Fukase drew closer and hopped into a stool. “I sorta live here.”

    Placing the cup down on the saucer with a clink, Oliver’s eye widened and swept around the café as if seeing it for the first time. When he looked back, he smiled again. “Well, it’s quite lovely. I admit I am envious of you.” The smile slipped as his gaze dropped to his cup, still filled close to the brim. “I also must admit that I am not as fond of coffee as I’d like to be. A colleague of mine who’s an avid drinker of it recommended this place to me. I had been hoping to find a decent coffee shop for the longest time but,“—he sighed—“I suppose my tastes are stubborn.”

    With a frown, Fukase slouched, hiding half its face in the crook of its arm. “If this place isn’t for you then I dunno what is. The bean water’s as good as it’s gonna get here.”

    “Are you an expert on coffee, perhaps?”

    “Nah but the old man puts a lot of thoughts into how he makes it.” By ‘old man’ it meant the shop’s owner, Al.

    “Ah yes, your caretaker.” –Fukase bristled at this—“Speaking of, he had some unexpected matters to attend to. He asked me to tell you to close the shop when you came by.”

     “Wait, did I tell you bout the caretaker thing?”

    Conflicted, the boy pressed his lips together, avoiding its gaze with a restrained sigh. “Well, no. It’s a bad habit of mine—to look into those I’m interested in I mean. My apologies for prying into your private matters.”

    A dismissive wave—“It’s no big deal. Heard there’s still a bunch of rumors like that running around my educational facility.”

    Oliver laughed behind his hand. “How you come up with such fascinating words will always elude me.”

    “Oh man, me too.” It set its school bag on the counter, shoving it off near the yellow payphone and shuffling over to the door, flipping the sign from open to closed. When it returned, Oliver had the cup in his hand again, lips near the rim. Seeing it approach again, he lowered it.

    Fukase shook its head in dismay, clenched a fist, and held it up with a determined expression. “C’mon kiddo, you can do it, down the rabbit hole.”

    “Down the hatch, you mean.” There was a flash of irritation in his eye but he let it go, shutting it. “It’s easy for you to say such things when you are not the one in a dilemma. I would like to see you try.”

    “Alrighty.” It hopped out of its seat and circled around the counter, pawing around for a clean cup. Oliver raised a brow.

    “I wasn’t aware you could make coffee.”

    “Not good but yeah, the old man’s been teaching me a few _point_ ers.” From its bag, it heard a stifled giggle. It paid no mind to this; Oliver shouldn’t be able to hear _him_ after all.

     “If it wouldn’t trouble you any, is there a way to turn up the volume on your TV? It’s been much too quiet to hear and the store owner left before I could ask.”

    In the middle of pouring coffee, clouds of steam rising and disappearing into the air, it glanced around. “Uhh—gimme a sec, the remote should be around here somewhere.” Noticing its cup just before it overflowed, it cut the stream short, jerking the pot back. “Yikes that was a close one,” it muttered under its breath, setting it down and ducking under the counter. After a few moments, it bounced back up with a triumphant grin. “Found the remote. Thought it might’ve been on the stepping surface.” Aiming it at the TV, it held down a button until the volume was at a reasonable level.

> _“—There are a number of claims of people receiving calling cards from The Phantom Thieves. How many do you think are true? There are even those who are trying to sell them online claiming them to be authentic…”_

    The overly energetic voices of the show hosts rumbled through the speakers. Fukase had a habit of tuning them out; if it didn’t, it was harder to act. It was a blunt and honest character by nature so the more it could do to prevent slip-ups, the better. Unfortunately, Oliver had other plans.

    “If I recall correctly,” he said, shifting the weight of his cup so the coffee lapped the sides, ”you believe The Phantom Thieves to be on the side of justice and that criminals are their only target.” He lowered it here. “That is what you said to me back at the studio, yes?”

    “Yep.” Fukase lifted its own cup and weakly blew into it, sending ripples over the coffee’s surface and disturbing the steam.

    With a wistful smile, Oliver sighed. “I suppose my stance on them is no secret, considering it was broadcasted all over the country. I do not support them in their endeavors. This way of thinking hasn’t caused me much trouble until now. Now—I am unwelcome no matter where I go. Hated and despised—it would seem I have become the villain in this story.”

     Fukase didn’t look at him, engrossed in the coffee it was taking care in drinking as slow as possible.

    Oliver read the silence as a go-ahead. “But I am certain that the public will realize the true villains soon enough. Until then, I must tolerate the hate.” With his smile still wistful, he glanced over at it. “How about you? You have as much reason as the general public to dislike me. Well? Do you?”

     It drained the cup, putting it down and staring ahead at the jars of coffee beans lining the shelves.

    “Not really.”

    “Do you _like_ me?”

    “Not really.”

    “Ah,” Oliver said, leaning back in his seat, “So you feel neutrally about me?”

    It shrugged. “I guess.”

    Smiling, he said, “That doesn’t make me feel very welcomed.”  

    There was no response.

    “Regardless of how you feel about me and whether or not you’re telling the truth,“—Oliver dug in his pocket for his wallet, taking out some coins—“I’ll be stopping by often from here on. I’d like to see what else this little café has to offer.” Placing them on the counter, he hopped off of his seat and took up his suitcase. “Well, I must be going then—in justice’s name and whatnot. I’ve left my payment on the counter so please inform the owner when you can.”

    It nodded mechanically. “Gotcha.”

    He smiled. “And my apologies. I do hate to waste but it seems I can’t conquer the bitterness of coffee quite yet. I commend you for being able to.”

    Another nod.

    With a nod of his own, the boy left. Fukase let out a breath it didn’t know it had been holding, the tension from its shoulders releasing. A small white humanoid creature emerged from its bag.

    “Sorry you had to deal with that, kid,“ Point said, dusting himself off. “He gives me the Bad Vibes too. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

    “Tell me bout it.” It gathered the coins he had left behind and deposited them in the cash register, returning to retrieve the still full cup of coffee with its own and dump the contents into the sink. It began to rinse them out. “How are you supposed to be alright with a guy who’s trying to get you locked up?” The rookie detective was infamous for his stance on The Phantom Thieves, after all.

    “The answer is, you’re not.” Point ran along to the edge of the counter nearest to Fukase and sat down. “We need to keep our guard up around him. Especially since he’s gonna be coming around more often.” Irritably, he sighed. “What an annoying guy.” He paused. “Think we oughta steal his heart?”

    Finished with washing the cups, Fukase shook its hands off and turned to Point with a smile. “Uh, we’re gonna need a full personal word attachment for that.”

    “Aw come on, don’t tell me you forgot his last name already.”

    “You know how it is.” It slung its school bag over its shoulder. “My thinker doesn’t do too well with that stuff.” It waited for Point to scurry over and jump up on it before heading for the stairs that lead to the attic.

    “Well kid, I guess I should _point_ out that it’s getting pretty late. Think you can sleep so you don’t pass out during homeroom again?”

    “It’s looking kinda iffy right now but I might,” it admitted as it hiked up the steps, the wood creaking beneath its weight.

    “If you can’t, we can stay up making infiltration tools. Insomnia’s not an all around bad thing considering all the stuff you’ve made so far.”

    “You’ve got a _point_ there,” it grinned as it reached the top.

    Point laughed. “Who do you think I am? Of course I do.”

    It didn’t take long to get ready to sleep-- turning off the lights, not bothering to change out of its uniform. It lay on its dusty bed staring at the shadowed ceiling. Both its exhaustion and the darkness weighing down on it, it squinted, hearing Oliver’s distinct voice rising from the floor below but feeling too tired to move.

    “…Forgot to turn off the TV.”


End file.
